


merci pour le venin

by akamine_chan



Series: Merci Pour Le Venin [1]
Category: Ashlee Simpson (Musician), Bandom, Gym Class Heroes, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-18
Updated: 2016-04-18
Packaged: 2018-06-02 23:42:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6587935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akamine_chan/pseuds/akamine_chan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Insulting the deity of unrelenting love was, in hindsight, not Frank's most brilliant idea ever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	merci pour le venin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lucifuge5](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucifuge5/gifts).
  * Inspired by [and me here on the ground](https://archiveofourown.org/works/944242) by [ohnoktcsk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohnoktcsk/pseuds/ohnoktcsk). 



> Beta work by the ever faithful Ande.
> 
> This was written a couple of years ago for my beloved Luce's bday, and for reasons we're not exploring at this juncture, hasn't been posted until now. 
> 
> Takes place in the same universe as Ti Bon Ange and Interlude (where Pete pretends to be a werewolf in order to woo the King of the Werewolves, Patrick Stump.
> 
> Seriously, seriously inspired by Ktc's brilliant and wondrous story "and me here on the ground"

"What the fuck is _that_?"

Mikey didn't look up from the copy of _Grimoires and Glamours_ he was reading. "Statue of some sort of love deity."

"No way." Frank circled the statue, careful not to touch. "It's really fucking ugly."

The sound of Gerard's eye roll was loud in the lab. "The purpose of art is to provoke a reaction, even if the reaction is dislike or disgust." Gerard covered the spelled mirror with its protective cloth, because sometimes the Librarians at the National Archives were assholes and liked to play pranks. He stood up on his tiptoes and reached for the ceiling, stretching.

"Jakilika, deity of unrelenting love. Mostly worshiped by some of the eastern Elven tribes," Ray explained. He was at his lab bench, measuring out newt eyes for his current concoction, bottles and jars lined up in an orderly fashion.

"Unrelenting love? What the fuck does that even mean?"

Gerard shrugged. "I'm going to Moonbucks; anyone want anything?" His workspace was piled with books and the detritus of dismantled magical constructs, his failed experiments.

"The usual," Mikey said.

Ray shook his head and held up his still full coffee cup.

"Pumpkin Spice Soy latte, please," Frank requested, politely.

"Okay." Gerard grabbed his cloak and headed out the door.

"Maybe 'unrelenting' isn't quite the right translation," Ray continued. "The word, _tcheirchz_ , has more of 'remorseless' feel, or possibly 'merciless.'"

"That still doesn't make any sense." Frank pushed his bangs off of his face and circled the statue again. "Makes love sound kinda. . .scary and terrifying."

Mikey glanced up from his book and met Frank's eyes. The look was unreadable, and Frank felt his stomach twist, wishing he knew what Mikey was thinking. Frank turned away, and the moment was broken.

Ray grinned. "It often is."

Mikey snickered, and Frank threw a mushroom the size of his fist at Mikey. And missed. He turned his attention back to the statue. "Seriously, this thing's fucking ugly. Like a cross between an octopus and a bear that was dropped on its head." He squinted at it. "Is it supposed to look like this? All tentacle-y?"

"Dunno," Ray said. "The rightful owners are supposed to be here at the end of the week to reclaim their deity. Please, for the love of all that you hold dear, don't call Jakilika ugly in front of them."

Frank had the nerve to look affronted. "I have manners, you know."

"Bad manners, maybe," Mikey muttered.

"Hey, I heard that!" 

The bell above the door rang and Frank headed toward the store front. "Gotta be my two o'clock." He grabbed a jar off the components shelf and held it up to the light, peering at it. "Looks like we're running low on the powdered rosemary."

"You need more right now?" Ray asked. He gestured to his mortar and pestle. "I can grind some up after I finish this potion. . ."

"Nah, there's enough. The client only wants a little memorial tattoo," Frank said, shaking the jar and going to greet his customer.

The _Daily Prophecy_ had picked Frank as the District's best atramancer three years running, with good reason. His tattoos were powerful, imbued with the magic that ran in his blood. He was known mainly for his memorial tatts, but there was a steady stream of customers seeking protection motifs and designs to attract love, luck, wealth.

The bell rang again and Gerard came stomping into the lab, a cardboard tray of coffee cups held between his hands. "Damn unicorns," he muttered. "Prancing up and down the streets. . ."

"There was an announcement in the _Prophecy_ 's community calendar section about a parade today, some kind of fall festival," Ray said mildly.

"Oh, that explains the pumpkins." Gee handed Mikey his coffee and set Frank's at his desk, wiggling his fingers and muttering a warming spell. Frank hated it when his coffee got cold.

By the time Frank finished with his client and ushered the young man out of the store with a sheet of mimeographed care instructions, everyone was deeply immersed in their own projects. Ray was working on a potion to help with the symptoms of a skin rash that was spreading through the werewolf community, while Mikey researched the removal of glamours for a client unfortunately afflicted with one. Gerard, as always, had about five projects going on at once, but right now his attention was riveted by his clockwork creations, creatures made of metal and gears, but animated with magic.

There was still a somewhat lively debate among them as to whether Gerard's automata were alive or not.

"Well, there goes another satisfied client," Frank said happily. "The guy's looking for a job; I almost talked him into buying a resumé scroll." Frank smiled. "Dude said that he'd heard our scrolls were the best on the market."

Frank wasn't the only one who'd won recognition from the _Daily Prophecy_ 's yearly 'Best of the District' award. Ray had been voted best philtramancer, and _Merci Pour Le Venin_ itself had been declared _the_ store to go to for all of your alchemical needs. 

Mikey had been presented with a special certificate for being the 'Person Everyone In The District Knows.' He'd framed the award and hung it on the wall behind his desk; he was oddly proud of it, even though the guys liked to poke fun at him. 

"He'll be back," Gerard said with certainty, intent on the mechanical otter he was creating. He was using a tiny screwdriver to secure a paw to the rest of the body and it required concentration and steady hands.

"Probably," Frank agreed, walking over to the statue of Jakilika and squinting. Something about the figure fascinated him. If he unfocused his eyes, he was sure he could see the way the sculpture was supposed to look like, before it had been damaged. Dropped. Maybe thrown. He?—she?—the deity was made out of brass, tarnished with age. The artist had depicted Jakilika on a raised altar decorated with Elvish glyphs, tentacles stretched upward. Several of them were wrapped around athames, short bladed and sharp. The deity's face was alien, three-eyed with no mouth. Frank tried to decipher the expression on zie's face, but failed. Surely zie wasn't _angry_? "What do the glyphs say?"

"It's a prayer." Mikey shut the book he was paging through. "Well, technically, it's a love spell." He stood next to Frank, pointing to specific glyphs. "'Bind two together with merciless love'—I favor that translation of _tcheirchz_ , especially with the -hz suffix." Mikey rubbed at his chin thoughtfully. "This dialect of Elvish is difficult. 'Never apart without paying a price.' A little different than your usual love spells, that's for sure."

"No fucking kidding," Frank said. Not that he had a lot of experience, personally, with the casting of love spells. That one time had been a scientific experiment. He would stick to his atramancy, thank you very much, which weren't spells as much as a recalibrating of the client's probability aura. Made things like love and wealth more likely. Casting spells, that was a whole different kettle of bats.

The clock on the wall chimed the hour and Gerard looked up, eyes wide. "Fuck, I'm going to be late!"

"Date night," Mikey said laconically as Gerard scrambled to put his tools and supplies away. He tried to walk and put on his cloak at the same time, and he tripped, feet tangling in the fabric. He hip-checked the table, hard, and the statue of Jakilika slid off, easy as anything, like it was greased.

Both Mikey and Frank dove for the idol, hands outstretched, and the moment their fingers touched the brass, there was a blinding flash of light and a clap of thunder so loud that the building seemed to shake.

"Fuck," Gerard shouted, lowering the arm he'd instinctively raised to protect his face. "Mikey? Frank?" He couldn't hear anything over the ringing in his ears, and there were weird after images burned into his vision. "Mikey?"

Frank and Mikey were lying on the floor, unconscious, their fingers entwined. Gerard reached out, only to be pulled back roughly by Ray. "No, look, Gerard." Mikey and Frank were covered with what looked like a shimmering film of blue electricity, like lightning. 

"Fuck, Ray, what is that, how do we get it off of them?" Gerard sounded a little panicked and a lot afraid.

"Hold on for a second," Ray said. "It seems to be fading."

The film seemed to evaporate in a shower of sparks, leaving behind the scent of ozone. "Don't move them until we're sure there's nothing broken," Ray said calmly, as Gerard pulled away and carefully petted Mikey's hair, calling his name softly. Ray checked on Frank; his pulse was strong and his breathing was regular and nothing felt broken. "Frank seems fine, just unconscious. How's Mikey?"

"I think he's okay." 

Ray looked, and Mikey's eyelids were fluttering, like he was struggling to open them and losing the battle. "Frank?" he asked, voice broken and reedy. "Frank?"

"Shhh," Gerard soothed. "He's right here. You okay, Mikey?"

Mikey was shaking, and pale. "'s too loud," he complained. "Shut up, Frank."

Gerard looked at Ray, who shrugged. "I'm going to call for the Healers, and get some blankets from upstairs; I'll be right back. I don't think we should move them."

"Okay," Gerard said. He rested his palm on Frank's chest, obviously feeling for his heartbeat, and doing the same to Mikey. "We'll be okay until you get back."

Ray was quick, dashing up the stairs to third floor and yanking a couple of quilts out of the linen closet before thundering back down. He paused long enough in the laboratory to open the birdcage door and pull out a Healer's dove. Leaning out the window, Ray tossed the cooing dove into the air, watching as it flew off into the darkness, toward the Healer's Quarter.

They draped the blankets over Mikey and Frank, and Gerard went to get some water. "Shouldn't take long for a Healer to get here," Ray muttered, mostly to himself.

He was right.

The Healer was tall and lanky and his dark skin was covered in tattoos. "Travie," he said with a nod, setting down his kit and crouching over Mikey. "What happened?" He held his hand over Mikey's face and closed his eyes, concentrating. He did the same to Frank, and then started digging through his kit.

Gerard pointed at the statue of Jakilika, laying on its side. "It fell off the table, and they tried to catch it."

Travie looked at the brass figure and shook his head. "Okay, I'm going to use some spirit of hartshorn to try to wake your boys up. Not sure exactly what's going on, but from the way their auras look, _something's_ happened." He popped open a vial and held it near Frank's face.

The reaction was immediate. Frank jerked away from the vial, face twisting up in disgust, eyes flying open. He coughed, and Travie put a hand on his shoulder to help him sit up. "What—?" Travie repeated the process with Mikey, who gasped and coughed, pushing away the vial and struggling to lever himself up.

"Easy," Travie murmured, checking Mikey's pulse and pupillary reflex. He examined Mikey's hands and fingers, and gently felt under Mikey's ears for swollen glands. "How're you doing, bruv?" he asked before subjecting Frank to the same careful study.

"Head hurts," Mikey mumbled. 

"Not surprised," Travie said. "Dude here—sorry, didn't catch your name—has one hell of a lump on the back of his head. You guys hit the ground pretty hard."

"But why?" Gerard asked plaintively. 

"Probably something to do with that there—" He flicked a finger toward the statue of Jakilika. "It's powerful."

"Shut up shut up shut up," Frank said, pressing his hands to his ears. "I can't think with you yelling, Mikey."

"Uh, Frank? Mikey hasn't said anything." Ray looked worried.

Frank looked at him, eyes bloodshot and almost wild. "Of course he has. He hasn't stopped talking since we woke up."

"Oh, damn," Travie said in wonder. He grabbed a small wooden box from his bag and flipped it open. It was a strange sort of compass, with arcane symbols burnt into the wood. Gerard recognized the glyph for _love_ , but the rest were in a language he'd never seen before.

Travie moved the compass close to Mikey and the arrow swung around wildly until it settled on a spiral-shell shape. As Travie moved the compass toward Frank, the arrow spun in the opposite direction until it settled onto a star glyph. "Oh. It's a curse."

* * *

"It most certainly is _not_ a curse. At least, not any curse I've ever seen." Ashlee Simpson had come highly recommended by Travie as an expert on curse removal. Gerard had been dubious, because Ms. Simpson looked to be about sixteen, young and fresh-faced, nothing at all like the skilled necromancer Travie had professed they would need. She wore thin black gloves, the symbol of her profession, and there was a crook and flail tattooed onto her wrist. 

She flicked her red hair over her shoulder and made Frank balance on one foot while touching his nose with alternating index fingers.

The front door of _Merci Pour Le Venin_ was locked, the elegant hand-written sign turned to 'Closed' and they were gathered in the upstairs common room. Ray and Gerard sat quietly on the couch while Ms. Simpson ran some magical tests.

"Of course it's a fucking curse. Why else would I be hearing Mikey's thoughts in my head?"

"And vice versa," Mikey added laconically from his spot in the easy chair. 

Frank waved at him, almost losing his balance. "Whatever. It's got to be a curse."

Ms. Simpson sighed. "I _am_ a Master Necromancer, gentlemen. I know a curse when I see one, and this isn't a curse."

"So what is it, then?"

"Be quiet and let me finish my tests." She made a pinching motion with her fingers and the room prickled with magical energy. Frank's mouth snapped shut, and he shivered when he saw the way her eyes changed, the black of her pupils growing to swallow the whites.

"Yes, ma'am," Frank said, holding still.

"Okay," Ms. Simpson said. She used a little rubber mallet to hit Frank's funny bone and pulled out a can opener. "Hold this." Frank held the can opener like it was a dangerous weapon while she squinted at him. "Now you, Mikey." She ran the same set of strange magical tests on Mikey, frowning thoughtfully. "Hmmmm."

"What does 'hmmm' mean, exactly?" Ray asked.

She waved away Ray's question. "Have either of you encountered any noncorporeal entities in the last few days? Eaten anything with sassafras or licorice in it? Did you pet a hippogriff or basilisk in the last year? Have any dealings with a firebird?"

"No, I don't think so, and no. We had a firebird as a client, but that was a couple of years ago." Frank said. Mikey shook his head.

"Well, it's not a curse, or a spell, or any sort of working I'm familiar with. It definitely isn't something with evil intent behind it. I'm going to make some inquiries at the Guild House, do some research and see what turns up. In the meantime, try to keep a record of anything that happens that seems out of the ordinary. I'll touch base as soon as I have any information." Ms. Simpson gathered up her tools and packed them back into her kit. 

Gerard got up and offered his hand. "Well, thank you for coming over, and helping out. Is there a fee for your services?"

Ms. Simpson smiled brilliantly. "For the consultation, no. If you feel so inclined, a donation to the Guild would not be amiss. I save the fees for when I've done actual work."

Ray nodded. "I'll walk you to the door," he said, gesturing toward the stairway. 

She wrapped her cloak around her shoulders and inclined her head. "Good evening, gentlemen."

* * *

The best part of the building that housed _Merci Pour Le Venin_ was the upstairs living quarters. The previous occupants had been a family of Seers, six kids, parents, and grandparents, and they'd built the store to fit all of them. It had made it possible for Gerard and Mikey, Ray and Frank to move out of their childhood homes once they'd completed their secondary schooling.

Not that they didn't all visit regularly with their parents. Frank's mother kept his room exactly as it had been when he'd been a teenager, and Mikey and Gerard still took their dirty laundry home for their mom to wash.

"I think I'm gonna go to bed," Frank yawned. "My head still hurts, and Mikey's trying so hard not to project his thoughts he's going to bust a nut."

"Fuck you," Mikey replied, flipping Frank off for good measure. "'M too busy building a mental wall to keep your pervy thoughts out of my head."

Gerard rubbed at his own forehead. "Enough, guys."

"Gerard, go take Lindsey out for a late dinner. I'll babysit these two and make sure they stay out of trouble for the night." Ray rubbed at the back of Gerard's neck, trying to ease some of the visible tension. "We'll be fine, and if anything comes up, I'll send a message to let you know."

"We'll be okay, Gee," Mikey said. "Promise."

Frank crossed his heart solemnly and nodded.

"All right," Gerard said. "I'll probably end up taking Linds to the Dragonfire Grill, but it's close; I can come right back if something happens."

"Go," Ray said, nudging Gerard toward the stairs. "I can handle these two."

With a last worried look, Gerard headed out for his belated date, the door bell jingling merrily as he left.

"Okay, I'm really going to bed. My fucking head is killing me." Frank pressed careful fingers against the lump at the back of his head, hissing at the tenderness.

"It's a good thing you didn't crack your skull open and spill your brains out, Frankie. It would have attracted wild zombies for miles around, and we only have about half a bottle of Zom-B-Gone left." Ray frowned. "Maybe we should make some more—"

"Later," Frank said.

Ray looked Frank over, took in his pale face, the way he held himself upright with effort, probably on the verge of falling over. "Of course."

"G'night," Mikey mumbled, flipping through the pages of the large book in his lap.

Frank clomped up the stairs, disappearing from view after a few steps. There was a loud thump and Frank cried out in pain. Mikey tried to stand, dumping the book out of his lap, but dropped to his knees and tried to curl up into a ball.

"Mikey? Frank? What's happening?" Ray was on the verge of panic, his normally laid back demeanor replaced with fear and worry. He dashed up the stairs and found Frank crouched on the floor, pale and panting. 

"Fucking hurts," Frank gasped, and Ray picked him up and headed toward Frank's bedroom. Frank shrieked and writhed in Ray's arms, and there was an echoing scream from Mikey. 

"What the fuck?" Ray had no idea what was wrong, and no idea what to do. Frank looked to be in agony, and Mikey didn't sound much better.

"Mikey," Frank gasped, reaching out with a shaking hand. "Need Mikey."

That was enough for Ray, who carried Frank back to the common room, depositing him carefully on the couch. He squatted down to check on Mikey, who was sweating and shaking, his pulse racing. 

"What's happening?" he asked, making Frank comfortable on the couch and putting a pillow under Mikey's head. "I'm sending a message to Gerard."

Mikey tried to get up off the floor. "No, I'm fine, it's just—"

"No," Ray said, and pushed Mikey flat to the floor. "You are going to be still until Gerard gets back." He glared at Frank, who'd been about to try to get to his feet. "Both of you, _don't move_."

Mikey sighed in resignation while Frank stuck out his tongue and crossed his eyes at Ray. 

"Be right back." In the lab, he pulled a bluebird from the cage and launched it out the window; Gerard would know to come home immediately. Ray could only hope that Gerard would have a better idea of what was going on with Mikey and Frank, because Ray had never seen anything like this.

He grabbed _Hurley's Guide to Magical Ailments_ off the shelf before returning to the common room. Frank was in the process of trying to sneak upstairs. "Oh, no you don't," Ray huffed, grabbing Frank by the scruff of his shirt and shoving him back toward Mikey. "Gerard will be here soon."

"But I feel better," Frank protested, and Ray wasn't having any of it. 

Mikey snickered at Frank, and Frank flipped him off. Ray sighed, and tried to somehow get Gerard home faster with the power of his mind.

* * *

"Mikey? Frank? What's wrong?"

"Up here," Ray shouted, and they heard Gerard curse and gallop up the stairs.

"What happened? What's going on?" He was breathing fast, like he'd run the whole way home from the Dragonfire Grill.

Ray held up the copy of _Hurley's_. "Possibly an infestation of imps. Or a bad case of ghostpox."

Gerard shook his head. He checked Mikey's temperature with the back of his hand. "If they had imps they would be glowing."

"True," Ray said, tipping his head.

"And we got vaccinated for ghostpox after that. . .incident last year," Frank said, wincing.

"What are the symptoms?"

"Intense pain."

"Fuckin' intense," Mikey muttered. "It was hurting me, and I could also feel how bad it was hurting Frank."

"Felt like something was trying to claw its way _out_ of me," Frank added.

"And?" Gerard made a circular motion with his hand.

Ray shrugged.

Gerard huffed out a breath. "Okay, give me a timeline of events. What were you doing before the pain started?"

"Nothing," Mikey said. "I was leafing through _Saporta's Bestiary of Imaginary Creatures_ and then suddenly there was this agony." He shrugged.

"I was going to bed," Frank said. "Because my head still hurt." He touched his temple.

"The minute Frank was out of sight, Mikey kinda fell over. . ." Ray's words trailed off at the dawning horror on Gerard's face. "What? What is it?"

Gerard held up a finger and rifled through the pockets of his cloak, pulling out an embroidered cloth bag of glittery _alethe_ dust, more commonly known as truth powder. He flung a couple of pinches of dust at the space between Mikey and Frank, singing softly.

The dust sparkled and twinkled before settling into the faint outline of _something_ , a nebulous network of glittering lines between Mikey and Frank.

"Wow. Is that—" Ray's eyes were huge. "Is that really a—"

"Yeah," Gerard confirmed. "A soulbridge."

"What?" Frank and Mikey asked in unison. 

"That's not possible," Mikey said calmly.

Frank's response was a little more heated. "No fucking way!"

"Well, alethe dust always reveals the truth." Gerard gestured toward the shining threads that hung in the air between Frank and Mikey.

"Soulbridges require commitment and rituals and forethought. They've done none of that," Ray protested.

"Fuck you, motherfucker, I have forethought!"

Ray waved his hand. "It wasn't an insult, Frankie. It's just that soulbridges are like marriages, only _more_. You're binding yourself to someone else for the rest of your lives. It's not something done lightly."

"Well, I _didn't do it_." Frank crossed his arms over his chest and looked stubborn.

Mikey frowned. "It wasn't me."

"Well, soulbridges don't build themselves, you know." Gerard was stressed and irritated, and he couldn't help glaring at Mikey and Frank. 

"No, wait, guys, it must be the damn statue of Jakilika," Ray said, snapping his fingers.

"Is that even possible?" Gerard was dubious. "Soulbridges can only be built by the willing."

"'Bind two together with merciless love.' 'Never apart without paying a price.' The glyphs, remember?" Ray said.

"Fuck. Seriously? Who thought _that_ was a good idea?" Mikey looked like he'd eaten a lemon. "I don't want a soulbridge with Frank. We haven't even _dated_."

"Wait, what?" Frank threw his arms out wide. "Are you saying this is a real soulbridge?"

Gerard sighed, and looked at the tenuous-looking bond between Frank and Mikey. "Looks like."

"Maybe the priest? priestess? whoever's coming to pick up the statue of Jakilika can help." Ray was alway the optimistic one. "If this is because of the statue, then maybe they can figure out a way to undo this."

"I really fucking hope so," Mikey said, looking at Frank out of the corner of his eye. 

"Fuck you," Frank said, without heat.

* * *

They tried to keep _Merci Pour Le Venin_ open, but the negative energy threw off most of the magic that they attempted, so they rescheduled their consultations and appointments. It took Ray an entire afternoon to call all their clients and shuffle their calendar.

"It's done," Ray said, running his hand through his unruly hair. "We've got nothing scheduled until Moon Day. That gives us some leeway to figure out what's going on."

"What did you tell the clients?" Gerard winced as an outraged shriek echoed through the building, followed by a series of loud thumps. "Mikey and Frank are. . .working out some differences."

"With their fists?"

"Mmmm, I don't _think_ so."

Ray sighed. "I was hoping this would make them admit their feelings for each other, but it seems to have made things worse."

"They're both stubborn dorks." Gerard shrugged. "They'll figure it out, eventually."

They looked up at the ceiling as Frank's voice, clear as a bell, drifted down to them, casting aspersions on Mikey and the Way ancestors for at least five generations back.

"He's pretty creative," Gerard said. "Though I do object to the term 'camelfucker.' No one in my family has _ever_ fucked a camel."

Ray snorted and returned to the subject at hand. "Told the clients there was a burst pipe, water leak. Emergency repairs, clean up, then we'd be open again bright and early on Moon Day."

"Perfect." Gerard looked at the water clock on his desk. "Wanna go get some lunch?"

"Fuck yes," Ray said, relieved.

They hurriedly put on their cloaks and left, ignoring the crashing sounds.

* * *

"No, not Jakilika's fault. Is your fault for speaking bad about Jakilika—"

"I didn't speak bad about Jakilika," Frank interrupted. "Just, the statute, it's kinda. . .unique and special."

The cleric of Jakilika, a tall blond elf with a thick Eastern accent and a poor grasp of the common tongue, sniffed disdainfully at Frank. "You called Jakilika ugly."

Frank protested. "No, not ugly. Ill-formed."

"Ugly. Bear and oct-o-pus, you say."

"Uh—"

Gerard nudged Frank back toward his bench. "Forgive him, Your Holiness, he didn't mean to be insulting toward your deity," Gerard said with a slight bow.

"Did, too," Mikey said, sotto voce.

Ignoring his brother, Gerard bowed again to the cleric. "The joining of the two was an unexpected, and unchosen, surprise. We were hoping that you would be able to intercede with Jakilika on our behalf and offer our utmost apologies for any perceived rudeness."

"It will not be cheap," the cleric warned.

Mikey snorted, and turned it into a cough when Gerard glared at him. "Name the price, Your Holiness."

The cleric tilted zie's head. "I will need an offering for Jakilika, to appease the deity's anger. Five dragon-of-ice scales, a vial of mer-maiden tears, and three bundles of lovewort harvested under a sickle moon."

"And that will get rid of the soulbridge?" Frank asked.

Zie looked imperiously down at Frank. "No. But it will allow me to request an audience with Jakilika to plead your case. Also, I need five hundred gil to fill out the proper paperwork. In triplicate."

"What? That's outrag—" Mikey was fast; he slapped his hand over Frank's mouth and pulled him close, arm banded around Frank's chest to keep him from leaping for the cleric.

"We will gather the offering components by the next full moon and have them delivered to you, Your Holiness. Thank you for your kindness."

Ray's mouth was pinched tight in anger, but he kept quiet.

Zie nodded, and picked up the filigree box that the figure of Jakilika had been carefully packed away in and swept out of _Merci Pour Le Venin_. "Remember, five hundred gil," zie said over zirs shoulder.

"Yes, Your Holiness," Gerard murmured, shutting the door firmly behind the cleric.

Frank wriggled, because he was hopping mad, and he licked Mikey's palm to get him to let go.

"Ugh, that's gross," Mikey said, wiping his hand off on Frank's shirt.

"What the fuck? _Five hundred gil_? That's two weeks worth of salary, just to fill out some fucking paperwork?"

"Divine paperwork costs extra, apparently," Mikey said wryly.

"It's fucking outrageous," Frank snarled.

"Yeah, but we don't have a choice," Gerard said. "We'll take it out of the emergency funds."

"No!" Frank shouted. "Absolutely not. It's blackmail, pure and simple. We're not paying one thin gil to that—that—that _person_." He pointed angrily at the door and it abruptly fell off its hinges, dropping onto the sidewalk and almost flattening a passing message-otter.

The message-otter was not happy, chittering and waving his paws at them accusingly from the empty doorway

"Frank, I need you and Mikey to go upstairs and calm yourselves down," Ray said, sighing. "Don't _point_ at anything. You should know better." 

"I _am_ calm," Mikey protested, but he slung his arm around Frank's shoulders and let him away.

Ray scrubbed at his face tiredly. "We'll apologize and offer restitution to Ser Otter, and have the door rehung."

* * *

One of the first things Mikey and Frank did was test the limits of their soulbridge. 

Sharing emotions was easy; it took almost no effort for Frank to feel what Mikey was experiencing, and vice versa. Mikey attributed a large part of that to their longstanding friendship and swore that they didn't need a bridge for that.

Reading each other's thoughts, well, that was harder. It took effort to push past the psychic walls of the magically-attuned, and they both were trying their best to keep their thoughts to themselves. The walls thinned when they slept, and they couldn't prevent their dreams from tangling together during the night. In the morning, it always took them a few moments to struggle back into their own minds.

The worst part was the fact that the soulbridge forced them to stay physically close. As long as they could see each other, they were fine. The second they couldn't, even if it was simply a wood door between them, all Hell broke loose, starting with stomach cramps and rapidly escalating to the most excruciating pain ever.

Frank claimed that it was worse than the time when the owl bear fell on him and broke his ribs, and Mikey shrugged, because the owl bear had been pretty fucking big, and he'd been convinced that it had smashed Frank flat like a pancake. He didn't like to think about it.

"I'm bored. Let's go to Moonbucks."

There was a hint of a whine in Frank's voice; it set Mikey's teeth on edge. "'M busy," he mumbled, flipping through the table of contents of _Wentz's Index of Cursed Objects_. There was a reference to the statue of Jakilika somewhere, he was sure of it.

Frank paced in front of the common room windows. They were alone, because Gerard and Ray had gone on a house call to help rid a young woman of an infestation of dire mice in her apartment. Ray spoke the common mouse tongue and was an excellent negotiator. Mikey had no doubt they would be successful, but mice liked to _talk_.

"Mice like cheese, too," Frank said, apropos of nothing.

Mikey couldn't help but snort. "Stay outta my head."

"Stop thinking so loud."

"Fuck you."

"Suck my dick."

They traded the insults back and forth, desultory and half-hearted.

"Mikey, I'm bored. Can we do _something_? I'm dying here." 

"No."

"Mikey, c'mon."

"No."

"Asshole."

"Whatever."

And just like that, something in Frank snapped. Mikey felt the lash of his frustration, and suddenly Frank tackled him off of the couch, knocking them both to the floor with a thump. Mikey dodged a fist and rolled, trying to keep Frank from landing a punch. "What the Hell, Frank?" he asked. 

Frank growled and wriggled, managing to elbow Mikey in the ribs and almost kneeing him in the balls. "Fucking smug asshole, always so fucking in control of things, hate this, hate—"

Something twisted in Mikey's stomach, a tangle of _lovefearlove_ and it took Mikey a moment to realize that they weren't his feelings, but _Frank's_. It stunned him into stillness, the depth of what Frank was feeling, and Frank took advantage of Mikey's momentary shock. He wrapped his arm around Mikey's head and gave him a noogie, rubbing hard with his knuckles.

"Ow, ow, _ow_ , motherfucker, stop it!" Mikey tried to get away, because it fucking _hurt_ , but Frank was clinging like a demented monkey, muttering curses under his breath. Mikey was hampered by the fact that he didn't actually want to hurt Frank, so it was something of a challenge to subdue him.

After using a couple of dirty tricks that Mikey had learned from watching professional Orc wrestling, he managed to trap Frank under him, both of Frank's hands held tightly in one of his. Frank continued to cuss, but all Mikey felt was the surprising wash of _love_ in the back of his mind, tainted with fear and self-doubt, like the throbbing of a sore tooth.

"Frank?" 

Frank wouldn't meet his eyes, just huffed out a breath and strained against Mikey's hold.

"Frankie." Mikey kept his voice soft and soothing, and waited for Frank to look at him.

Instead, Frank surged upward, pressing their mouths together hard, and that was the last straw, somehow. Mikey let go of Frank's wrists, burrowing his fingers into Frank's hair and curling his fingers tight, holding him still while they kissed. Frank made a tiny sound, pained, but Mikey didn't care anymore, just took advantage of Frank's open mouth and _tasted_ him for the first time.

Mikey could feel the soulbridge thrum between them like a plucked string, an almost physical sensation, and then he was surrounded by Frank, Frank’s thoughts and emotions tangling around Mikey the same way Frank was wrapping himself tightly around him. He wondered how Frank had managed to hide how he felt for so long, and it was echoed by Frank, disbelief and wonder added to the turbulent whirl of feelings.

It was too much, and not enough, and Mikey felt like he was drowning under the weight of it. He felt dizzy, and realized that Frank had rolled them over, pressing himself against Mikey before reaching between them.

Frank was scrabbling at Mikey's belt buckle, frantic fingers shaking, a stream of breathless words torn from him, _need this_ , and _want you_ , and _driving me crazy_. Frank wasn't careful, and it didn't matter, Mikey just needed to feel Frank's hand on him _now_.

Mikey lifted his hips when Frank tugged, and he was suddenly half-naked, the wood floor hard against his ass, gasping loudly as Frank wrapped his fingers around Mikey's dick and started stroking him, fast and rough.

He wasn't going to last, there was no way, between the friction on his cock and the reverberation of Frank's emotions, lust and desperation, and his own pleasure being reflected back at him, doubled with Frank's.

He was going to die.

"Frank," he panted, closing his eyes and arching his hips up, somehow wanting more. "Frank, please—"

There was the hiss of a zipper, and Frank's rhythm stuttered as he struggled with his own jeans. He didn't even bother to pulling them down, just got them open enough to stick his hand in and grab his own cock.

They didn't last long after that. Mikey couldn't differentiate between himself and Frank anymore; they were one, interconnected and twined together, body, mind and soul. He was electrified by the sight of Frank's face, beautiful in the way his eyes fluttered as the pleasure rushed through them, his mouth open and wet—

"Mikey—" Frank moaned, and they both came, shivering at the sensations crashing back and forth along the soulbridge, amplified by their closeness. It was like a punch to the gut, leaving Mikey reeling and breathless and he blacked out, Frank's name still on his lips.

* * *

It wasn't the most awkward thing ever, but it was close.

They were sticky and sweaty and Frank had drooled a little on Mikey's chest, while Mikey's hands had crept under Frank's shirt, fingers brushing against the small of his back. They couldn't bring themselves to look at each other.

The embarrassment was like a dull ache, and it took everything for Frank to not cringe away. He wanted to apologize for losing control, but the words were stuck in his throat, bitter and hopeless. "Sorry," he finally said, pushing up to his knees and trying to straighten his clothes.

"Hey, no, wait, Frankie—" Mikey didn't like the defeated way Frank's shoulders slumped, the careful way he moved, like it hurt. "Frankie—" He sat up and shuffled closer to Frank. "Look at me."

It took a minute, but eventually, Frank met his eyes.

Mikey had felt everything that Frank had felt, and he _knew_ , but there was still a shadow of uncertainty. He kissed Frank, gently, and opened his heart, using the soulbridge to show Frank how much he loved him, had always loved him. Frank responded with a gasp and a rush of emotions, love and fear and hopelessness.

"I didn't know, I was so afraid you didn't feel the same, Mikey, gods, Mikey, Mikey—"

Mikey shut him up with another kiss. They could talk later. Right now, he wanted to strip Frank naked and trace every tattoo with his tongue.

The thought was loud, and Frank laughed. "There's a lot of tattoos."

"I've got all the time in the world," Mikey replied, and set to work.

* * *

"Are you sure? Really sure? Because this is pretty serious stuff." Ray still sounded dubious.

"What happens when you want to go to a foofy art exhibit and Mikey doesn't?" Gerard asked, trying to hide a grin.

"Fuck you, I only go to hardcore art exhibits. _You're_ the one who goes to the foofy ones," Frank said.

Gerard shrugged. "I met Lindsey at a foofy art exhibit, so whatever."

Mikey sighed. "That's because you have the Luck."

"Well," Frank drawled, "Mikey and I talked about it, and decided we would just have to practice compromising with each other."

"And communicating," Mikey added. "Communication is important."

Both Ray and Gerard rolled their eyes.

"So you're going to be arguing a lot, as well as throwing stuff and calling each other names?"

Ray had a point, because that was how Mikey and Frank had resolved their differences in the past.

"Nope," Frank said, smirking at Mikey. "We're going to use rock-paper-scissors to resolve all of our fights from now on."

That surprised a laugh out of Ray and Gerard.

"Or maybe we'll use a crystal ball," Mikey joked. "'Reply hazy try again later.'"

Gerard blushed, because there had been a six month period when he'd carried around a crystal ball and let it make all of his decisions for him. That was how he ended up with the scar under his chin, and the tiny heart branded on his ankle. He'd been seventeen, and rather foolish; it'd been a difficult time in his life.

"Either way, we'll figure it out," Frank said. Mikey wrapped his arms around Frank from behind and pulled him back to lean on him. "We decided that we'll still make an offering to Jakilika, but the cleric can go to Hell."

"He's still pissed about the 500 gil," Mikey drawled.

"It's fucking unreasonable. 500 gil for paperwork." Frank bounced on the balls of his feet, like he was getting ready for a fight.

"Divine paperwork," Ray reminded him, and Frank just flipped him off with a grin. 

"Just try not to offend anymore deities, okay? It's disruptive, and _expensive_.

"We'll try," Mikey and Frank said in unison. "Jinx," they crowed to one another, laughing and high-fiving each other.

Ray and Gerard made their escape before it got ridiculous.

-fin-


End file.
